Chapter 148
The expedition continued after the aftermath of the battle had been fully secured. What had begun as a dangerous encounter with a flock of Stymphalian Birds quickly transformed into an unexpected windfall for the Rune Forge Merchant Group. Under the direction of Head Merchant Rume Ironbark, ten senior personnel were brought through Nille's gateway to assist with recovery operations. These were experienced craftsmen, researchers, and material specialists who understood the value of every scale, feather, bone, claw, and malignant core that could be harvested from powerful creatures.
The clearing soon became a scene of organized activity. Teams carefully cataloged and processed the remains while ensuring that no valuable materials were damaged. The metallic feathers of the Stymphalian Birds were separated and stored in specially prepared containers. Their brass-like wing structures showed remarkable mana conductivity and were immediately classified as high-grade crafting materials. The beaks, talons, cores, and reinforced bones were likewise collected for future research and weapon production.
Even the unconscious Lightning Dire Wolves that had been caught by the sleeping gas were handled with caution. Professor Caelum insisted that every specimen be documented before any decisions were made regarding transport or study. The mountain ecosystem was still largely undocumented, and each creature represented knowledge that could prove invaluable later.
Rume Ironbark could barely hide his satisfaction as crate after crate was filled.
"By the Forge," he muttered more than once. "A month's expedition couldn't normally gather this much."
Nhulla quietly agreed while updating inventory records.
The value of the recovered materials was staggering. Not only would they strengthen Rune Forge's manufacturing capabilities, but they would also provide scholars with entirely new biological and magical samples to study.
Nille watched the operation from a distance.
As agreed beforehand, he had already given Rune Forge the rights to process and manage the majority of the recovered resources. In exchange, the merchant group would continue supporting the expedition with equipment, logistics, research assistance, and specialized manufacturing. It was a practical arrangement that benefited everyone involved.
More importantly, it allowed the expedition to continue moving forward without being weighed down by mountains of harvested materials.
Within a few hours, the battlefield had been transformed.
What had once been a site of violence was now little more than disturbed earth and scattered signs of activity. Most of the valuable remains had already been transported back through the gateway toward the Rune Forge's Third Sub-Basement, where researchers and craftsmen eagerly awaited their arrival.
With the cleanup nearly complete, Professor Caelum gathered the group near the edge of the clearing.
"The objective remains unchanged," he said calmly.
His eyes drifted toward the deeper forest.
Beyond the middle belt.
Beyond the areas they had already explored.
Toward the unknown interior of the Draconian Mountain Range.
"We continue."
Rume adjusted the crossbow slung across his back.
Nhulla secured her equipment.
Lin Yue tightened her grip on her weapon and quietly moved beside Nille.
The forest ahead appeared darker than before.
Older.
As if the mountain itself had noticed their presence.
Yet none of them hesitated.
The battle against the Stymphalian Birds had proven something important.
The expedition could survive.
They could adapt.
And perhaps most importantly, they could solve problems without relying solely on overwhelming power.
Nille glanced once toward the recovered battlefield before turning his attention forward.
The mountain still held countless secrets.
Ancient ruins.
Unknown species.
Unrecorded ecosystems.
And somewhere beyond those forests, deeper mysteries waited.
With preparations complete and the recovered materials safely secured, the five-member expedition once again advanced into the heart of the Draconian Mountain Range, unaware that their greatest discoveries, and greatest dangers, still lay ahead.
The winged Imp lowered his head the moment Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon finished speaking.
There was no anger in her voice.
No threat.
No punishment.
Yet that made her displeasure even more frightening.
The Imp knew he had overstepped.
His attempt to interfere with Nille had not been authorized.
It had been born from something far more personal.
Jealousy.
Annoyance.
And a growing resentment toward a mortal who seemed to occupy a place in his mistress's thoughts far more often than he believed appropriate.
For centuries, he had served Elarisse faithfully.
He had witnessed kingdoms rise and fall.
Seen countless humans live and die.
Most were forgotten within decades.
Yet this one mortal continued to draw her attention.
That fact irritated him.
Greatly.
The creature known as Skirrik was an evolved Flying Imp, standing barely four feet tall. His body was thin and wiry, covered in dark emerald skin marked by glowing crimson runes that shifted whenever he became agitated. A pair of leathery wings extended from his back, while sharp ears and golden eyes gave him the appearance of a mischievous predator. Despite his small stature, Skirrik possessed considerable intelligence and had survived for hundreds of years through cunning rather than strength. He excelled at espionage, sabotage, and manipulation, making him one of Elarisse's most useful servants.
Unfortunately, he also possessed one major flaw.
He was possessive.
Not romantically.
But loyally.
He viewed Elarisse as the rightful ruler of their people.
Anyone who distracted her from that purpose became an obstacle in his eyes.
Nille had unknowingly become one such obstacle.
The Imp clenched his jaw but remained silent.
Elarisse simply ignored him.
Her attention shifted toward another figure standing nearby.
Unlike the Imp, this individual inspired respect through sheer presence.
A female dwarf stepped forward.
She was shorter than most humans, standing just under five feet tall, but her broad shoulders and powerful frame made her appear far larger. Her bronze skin carried numerous scars earned through decades of warfare and labor. Thick auburn hair had been braided into multiple battle knots decorated with silver rings and fragments of enchanted ore. Her eyes were a striking steel-gray, sharp and calculating, rarely missing details others overlooked.
This was Bursada Whithead.
Among Elarisse's followers, she served as both commander and engineer.
If Rume Ironbark represented the finest traditions of dwarven craftsmanship, Bursada represented dwarven pragmatism taken to its extreme.
She cared little for politics.
Little for pride.
Little for titles.
Only results.
Her armor appeared plain at first glance, forged from dark steel layered with hundreds of tiny runic inscriptions. Every piece served a purpose. Every tool hanging from her belt had a function. Even the heavy hammer resting across her back doubled as both weapon and portable forge instrument.
Where others saw problems, Bursada saw projects.
Where others saw impossible obstacles, she saw engineering challenges.
Elarisse trusted her because she accomplished tasks without unnecessary drama.
"Bursada."
The dwarf immediately bowed.
"My Lady."
"The first phase is complete."
Bursada nodded once.
"The reports agree."
Elarisse folded her hands behind her back.
"Then begin the second phase."
The dwarf's expression remained calm.
"As you command."
Nearby, Skirrik glanced toward her.
Unlike him, Bursada showed no interest in Nille whatsoever.
To her, the young man was simply another variable within a much larger operation.
That was one reason Elarisse relied on her.
The Encanto ruler slowly turned toward the distant mountains.
Toward the location where Nille's expedition continued deeper into the wilderness.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Few people knew the truth.
Few knew that years ago, when Nille was still a child struggling through a difficult life, he had unknowingly rescued a small injured stray cat.
A dirty creature with matted fur and a wounded leg.
A creature everyone else ignored.
A creature that was not actually a cat.
The memory remained surprisingly clear to Elarisse.
The child had shared food despite having little himself.
Had protected the animal despite his own hardships.
Had never expected anything in return.
The irony still amused her.
One of the oldest and most powerful Encantos in existence had once spent several weeks being carried around by a stubborn young boy who believed he was helping a helpless stray cat.
She had never forgotten that.
Neither had he.
Though Nille never learned the truth.
Elarisse's smile softened briefly.
Then vanished.
"Proceed."
Her voice regained its authority.
Bursada nodded.
Skirrik bowed.
The second phase of their plans began moving into motion.
And far away, completely unaware that ancient allies, hidden enemies, and old debts were converging around him, Nille continued leading the expedition deeper into the Draconian Mountain Range.
Toward a future that was becoming far more complicated than any of them realized.
The alliance between Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon and Apo Lakkay Masalanta was never simple, nor was it built upon complete trust. To outsiders, it appeared as a partnership between two powerful figures seeking stability within the hidden realms. In reality, both understood that their cooperation existed because their interests temporarily aligned, not because they shared the same vision of the future. Apo Lakkay possessed immense wisdom gathered over centuries, but even he privately acknowledged a truth few would believe—if a conflict ever arose between them, he would stand little chance against Elarisse in a direct confrontation.
The reason lay not in skill, experience, or magical knowledge alone, but in what Elarisse truly was.
Many believed her to be merely an ancient Encanto ruler. That assumption was dangerously incomplete.
Long before mortal civilizations recorded their histories, before kingdoms rose and faiths took shape, there existed six extraordinary beings said to have emerged from the essence of the Great Infinite One itself. They were known by many names across countless realms, but among the oldest traditions they were remembered as Elim, Borim, Morim, Bicairim, Persalutim, and Mitim. Unlike ordinary spirits, these entities did not seek blessings, titles, or authority from the Infinito Dios. To them, existence itself was already the greatest gift imaginable. They desired nothing more.
Because of this, they were granted unusual freedom.
They became beings that existed beyond conventional reality, residing in realms without fixed shape, form, or limitation. They possessed no permanent bodies and could manifest themselves however they wished. They wandered between countless worlds, crossing boundaries that even gods struggled to traverse. They observed civilizations, spoke with mortals, and occasionally influenced history through subtle intervention.
Different cultures remembered them differently.
Some viewed them as divine messengers.
Others called them wandering gods.
Among ancient Mesopotamian civilizations, stories resembling them eventually became associated with beings later remembered as the Annunaki—figures who descended from the heavens, interacted with humanity, and left behind bloodlines carrying traces of their extraordinary nature.
Because these entities could assume physical forms, they could also produce descendants within mortal realms.
Over countless generations, rare bloodlines emerged.
Most diluted over time.
Some vanished entirely.
A handful endured.
Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon carried one such lineage.
She was a direct fifth-generation descendant of Elim.
While far removed from the original source, her blood still carried fragments of that ancient inheritance.
That inheritance explained many things.
It explained why her lifespan far exceeded that of ordinary Encantos.
It explained why spatial barriers and dimensional boundaries often seemed less restrictive to her.
It explained why even powerful entities hesitated before challenging her.
And it explained why Apo Lakkay viewed her with a mixture of respect and caution.
For all his knowledge, Apo Lakkay understood that Elarisse's existence connected to forces older than most histories.
Yet despite this overwhelming heritage, Elarisse herself rarely spoke of it.
She had learned long ago that lineage alone meant little.
Power without purpose became arrogance.
Immortality without direction became stagnation.
Titles eventually lost meaning.
What truly mattered was choice.
And that was perhaps why she found Nille so fascinating.
Unlike her, Nille possessed no ancient kingdom.
No legendary clan.
No divine ancestry that he knew of.
Everything he became was built through struggle, survival, and determination.
Where Elarisse inherited greatness, Nille forged his own path toward it.
Perhaps that was why she continued watching him.
Not because she needed another servant.
Not because she needed another weapon.
But because in many ways, the young man represented something she herself had nearly forgotten after centuries of existence:
The ability to move forward without being defined by the weight of the past.
A lesson that even a descendant of Elim still struggled to learn.
Years before the current expedition, Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon disappeared from Nille's life without explanation.
The last time she saw him, Nille was only eleven years old.
At the time, he still viewed her as a mysterious but kind older figure who occasionally appeared during unusual moments of his life. He never understood who she truly was, nor did he realize how significant their meetings had been. Before departing, Elarisse left him one final gift—a portion of her clan's martial knowledge, subtly woven into the lessons she had taught him over the years. She never called it a farewell, but in truth she already knew she might never see him again.
Then she vanished.
For years, there was no trace of her.
No messages.
No guidance.
No explanation.
What Nille never learned was that Elarisse had embarked upon a far more dangerous journey—one aimed at reclaiming her place among her people.
Despite her immense power and prestigious lineage as a fifth-generation descendant of Elim, Elarisse had become increasingly isolated within her own clan. Her beliefs had placed her at odds with the old traditions that governed many of the ancient Encanto realms.
Unlike most of her kin, Elarisse believed that mortals and Encantos should cooperate.
She believed the future depended on coexistence.
That the old barriers separating realms could not remain forever.
That strength should be used to preserve legacies, not isolate them.
To the conservative factions within her clan, such ideas bordered on heresy.
Many of the elder bloodlines viewed mortals as lesser beings.
Useful.
Entertaining.
Occasionally valuable.
But never equal.
To them, humans were little different from livestock, temporary servants, or beloved pets whose brief lives carried little significance compared to immortal bloodlines.
Elarisse rejected that thinking.
And for that, she paid the price.
Political opposition slowly became hostility.
Hostility became open conflict.
Eventually, the ruling houses moved against her.
Not because she lacked power.
But because she threatened centuries of tradition.
Even among ancient bloodlines, hierarchy remained sacred.
Lineage still dictated authority.
And while Elarisse carried the blood of Elim, another faction possessed influence just as ancient.
At its head stood a formidable being descended from Bicairim.
Unlike Elarisse, whose gifts centered around water, adaptation, and transformation, this rival embodied overwhelming physical might.
Among his followers he was known as Sarang, named after the legendary Sarangay of Philippine mythology.
His appearance reflected that heritage.
A towering figure possessing the body of a colossal warrior and the head of a massive water buffalo crowned with obsidian horns. Rivers of molten energy flowed beneath his skin like liquid magma. Every step carried the weight of an earthquake. Every movement radiated raw force capable of reshaping landscapes.
Where Elarisse favored diplomacy and long-term strategy, Sarang believed in domination.
Where she sought cooperation, he demanded submission.
The conflict between them became inevitable.
In the end, even Elarisse's extraordinary abilities could not overcome the combined political and military power of the ruling clans.
She could command water.
Shape-shift into countless forms.
Cross boundaries between realms.
But victory was not always determined by strength alone.
Outnumbered and betrayed by those she once considered allies, Elarisse was driven from her ancestral domain.
Not defeated.
Not broken.
But exiled.
Forced to watch from afar as others claimed authority over the people she had hoped to protect.
The experience changed her.
Not immediately.
Not completely.
But slowly.
Over the centuries, the wound remained.
Every failure.
Every lost opportunity.
Every reminder of what had been taken from her.
All of it accumulated.
Transforming a hopeful leader into someone increasingly willing to pursue dangerous paths if it meant reclaiming her people's future.
Yet despite everything, one belief survived.
A belief that refused to die.
The same belief that had led to her exile.
The same belief that caused her to help a lonely awakened child years ago.
The belief that mortals and ancient beings could stand together.
That legacy did not belong exclusively to immortals.
And perhaps that was why, after all these years, she still found herself watching Nille.
Because among all the countless people she had met throughout her long existence, he remained living proof that her ideals might not have been wrong after all.
Whether that realization would ultimately save her, or destroy her, remained a question even Elarisse could not yet answer.
Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon rose from her throne without urgency. The discussions had ended, the orders had been given, and the next phase of her plans was already moving into motion. For a moment, she stood in silence, gazing toward the distant mountains where Nille and his companions continued their expedition.
Then her form began to change.
Like water disturbed by a gentle breeze, her appearance rippled.
The elegant woman who had been seated moments earlier slowly vanished.
Her youthful features aged.
Golden hair faded into silver-gray.
Smooth skin became lined with wrinkles earned not through age, but through deliberate transformation.
Her posture shortened slightly.
Her presence softened.
Within seconds, the powerful Encanto ruler was gone.
In her place stood an elderly elven woman.
She was only five feet tall now, her shoulders slightly stooped, her silver hair gathered into a simple braid that rested over one shoulder. Deep wrinkles framed her face, and her eyes carried the gentle weariness often seen in grandmothers who had spent a lifetime watching generations come and go.
To an ordinary observer, she appeared harmless.
Forgettable.
The sort of elderly traveler one might pass on a road without a second thought.
Only those with exceptional perception would notice the impossible depth hidden behind her aged eyes.
The eyes of someone who had witnessed centuries.
Someone who remembered kingdoms long turned to dust.
Someone who could still command enough power to shake entire realms.
Standing beside her was her steward.
Unlike Elarisse's modest disguise, the steward was impossible to ignore.
Everything about her proportions seemed stretched beyond what should have been natural.
Yet despite her strange appearance, her movements possessed a graceful precision.
Every motion was controlled.
Measured.
Perfect.
She wore dark robes embroidered with silver patterns that shifted subtly when viewed from different angles.
Her face remained expressionless.
Beautiful in an eerie way.
Ancient in a way that felt difficult to describe.
Those who understood the hidden realms knew better than to judge her by appearance alone.
The steward was among Elarisse's oldest followers.
A being who had served her long before many modern kingdoms existed.
Unlike the more emotional members of Elarisse's court, she possessed neither ambition nor jealousy.
Only loyalty.
Absolute and unwavering.
The towering woman inclined her head slightly.
"Baroness."
Elarisse adjusted the sleeve of her aged disguise and smiled faintly.
"How convincing is it?"
The steward examined her carefully.
"A grandmother."
Elarisse chuckled.
"A grandmother?"
"Yes."
The white faceless percaline mask steward nodded once.
"The sort children trust immediately."
"Good."
Elarisse's smile widened.
"That is precisely the point."
The steward remained silent.
She already suspected what her mistress intended.
Elarisse had always preferred observation over direct interference.
And whenever she chose the form of an elderly woman, it usually meant she planned to move unnoticed through mortal settlements.
The old elf looked toward the distant horizon.
Her expression softened.
For a brief moment, she no longer resembled a ruler plotting the future of clans and kingdoms.
She simply looked tired.
Tired in the way only someone carrying centuries of unfinished responsibilities could be.
"Things are changing again."
The steward finally spoke.
"Because of him?"
Elarisse smiled.
"Nille is merely one part of it."
Her eyes drifted toward the mountains.
"Though he has a remarkable talent for standing where important events decide to happen."
The steward considered that answer.
Then asked the question she had been wondering for years.
"Do you regret helping him?"
Elarisse's expression became thoughtful.
The image of a stubborn young boy sharing food with an injured stray cat surfaced in her mind.
A child who had almost nothing.
Yet still chose kindness.
A rare thing.
Even among immortals.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Not a moment of hesitation.
Not a trace of doubt.
"No," she repeated quietly.
And for the first time that day, Elarisse's smile was completely genuine.
"That is one decision I have never regretted."
One of the greatest ironies of existence was that mortals, despite their short lives and fragile bodies, possessed something many ancient beings secretly envied.
The ability to truly change.
Mortals were born incomplete.
They learned.
They failed.
They adapted.
A human could begin life as a coward and become courageous. A selfish person could become selfless. A poor child could become a king. A warrior could become a scholar. Their beliefs, personalities, skills, emotions, and understanding of the world constantly evolved throughout their lives.
To mortals, this seemed normal.
To immortal beings, it was extraordinary.
Many Encantos, deities, spirits, and other supernatural entities possessed immense power, lifespans measured in centuries, and knowledge beyond human comprehension. Yet most of them were fundamentally bound by their nature.
A spirit of fire would always be drawn toward passion, destruction, creation, or transformation.
A spirit of water would naturally seek flow, adaptation, and continuity.
A deity born from war could never fully separate itself from conflict.
An Encanto tied to a particular concept, realm, or lineage often found their thoughts slowly gravitating back toward those origins.
They could learn.
They could accumulate knowledge.
They could become stronger.
But genuine change was far more difficult.
Their identities were anchored by what they were.
Mortals, meanwhile, were defined by what they could become.
This was one reason many ancient beings found humans so fascinating.
A human could experience more personal growth in twenty years than some immortals managed in a thousand.
Not because humans were wiser.
Not because they were stronger.
But because every part of their existence encouraged adaptation.
Their short lives forced them to make choices.
Their weaknesses forced them to learn.
Their mortality forced them to value time.
An immortal could spend a century contemplating a problem.
A mortal might solve it within a decade because they knew they could not afford to wait.
Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon understood this better than most.
Throughout her long life, she had watched countless mortals rise and fall.
She had seen ordinary people transform themselves through hardship, love, loss, hope, and determination.
In many ways, that was why she defended mortals despite the opposition of her own clan.
Many ancient bloodlines viewed humans as lesser beings because of their limited lifespan.
Elarisse saw the opposite.
She believed mortality itself was the source of humanity's greatest strength.
The ability to become something new.
The ability to abandon old beliefs.
The ability to heal from pain.
The ability to choose a different path.
Even now, as she thought about Nille, she saw that truth unfolding before her eyes.
The boy she once knew had survived through anger, fear, and sheer stubbornness.
The young man he was becoming had begun to move beyond those things.
He was still carrying scars.
Still carrying questions.
Still carrying burdens from the past.
But he was changing.
Growing.
Evolving.
Not because of magic.
Not because of lineage.
But because he chose to.
And perhaps that was the lesson many immortals never fully understood.
Power could make a being eternal.
Knowledge could make them wise.
But the willingness to change, to become something greater than what one was yesterday, remained one of the rarest abilities in all existence.
Ironically, it was a gift mortals possessed naturally from the moment they were born.
And like most supernatural beings, this was what Elarisse feared her own people had forgotten.
They possessed power beyond mortal imagination.
They could live for centuries, sometimes millennia.
They could command elements, cross realms, reshape landscapes, and preserve knowledge that entire civilizations had long since lost.
Yet many of them had stopped growing.
Not in strength.
Not in knowledge.
But in character.
They became prisoners of their own nature.
Prisoners of tradition.
Prisoners of ancient grudges and beliefs inherited from generations long gone.
They spoke of wisdom, yet repeated the same mistakes.
They spoke of superiority, yet feared change.
They spoke of preserving their legacy, yet refused to adapt to a world that was constantly moving forward.
To Elarisse, that was the true danger facing the ancient races.
Not war.
Not extinction.
Not even mortality.
Stagnation.
A river that stops flowing eventually becomes stagnant water.
A tree that ceases to grow eventually begins to rot from within.
The same principle applied to civilizations.
And it applied to immortal beings as well.
Mortals understood this instinctively because they had no choice.
Their lives were short.
Every year mattered.
Every decision carried weight.
They learned because they had to.
Changed because they had to.
Adapted because they had to.
Immortals, however, often fell into the illusion that there would always be another century, another millennium, another opportunity.
And so many never changed at all.
This was the foundation of Elarisse's disagreement with her clan.
She did not see mortals as weak because they died.
She saw them as remarkable because they continued moving forward despite knowing they would die.
That was courage.
That was growth.
That was evolution.
The ability to become something different from what one was yesterday.
Something many supernatural beings struggled to achieve.
Perhaps that was why Elarisse had taken an interest in Nille all those years ago.
Even as a child, he was changing.
Adapting.
Surviving.
The hardships that should have broken him instead forced him to grow.
Not always in healthy ways.
Not always in ways she approved of.
But he kept moving forward.
And now, years later, she could see it more clearly than ever.
The angry, wounded child who fought because he had no choice was slowly becoming a young man who fought because he had something worth protecting.
To many immortals, that difference would seem small.
To Elarisse, it was the difference between surviving and truly living.
And that was why she still believed mortals and supernatural beings needed one another.
Because where immortals possessed power, mortals possessed change.
Where immortals preserved the past, mortals created the future.
Neither was complete without the other.
A truth that many ancient beings refused to accept this .
And a truth Elarisse was willing to challenge an entire civilization to see it change.